


The Rivers Run Red in London

by greygerbil



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Edgar finds himself making the acquaintance of all sorts of interesting people now that he is an Ekon, among them the mysterious Skal Old Bridget, who knows much more than she should and captures his attention not only because she makes him curious. However, it's not long before he finds himself stumbling into yet another dilemma and Jonathan is not around to save him this time.





	The Rivers Run Red in London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StopTalkingAtMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/gifts).



The woman stood still at the edge of the river as Edgar approached, face lowered, half-obscured by a veil. She was looking at the water, yet, her tense, total stillness, like a cat waiting in front of a mousehole, made him very sure she was aware of him. He surveyed her from head to foot as he approached her still form, watching the cold December wind tear at her threadbare clothing. His senses picked up on something his eyes could not, even now that the moonlight was as good as the sun to him: she was not human.

He had seen her a few times now when glancing out of a window or an open door at Pembroke, like a shadow at the corner of his eyes. At first, he’d thought she was of the Guard of Priwen, for despite being an Ekon himself now, Geoffrey did not trust Edgar very much at all (the same was obviously true the other way around – Edgar knew better than to consider Geoffrey a brother, though they had the same Maker). Guards were as a rule not usually half as subtle as they thought, however, and wouldn’t have evaded his new senses and reflexes so easily. In fact, the figure did it with such speed and apparent ease that over the nights, Edgar had begun to wonder if they were letting him see them on purpose.

It was this clouded January evening that his suspicion had been proven right, for the strange figure had lingered just long enough to bait Edgar out of the hospital down the set of stairs to the bank of the river, where they now stood and Edgar wondered if he would be pushed into the water if he came any closer. It wouldn’t kill him, mostly likely, but it would be _dreadfully_ cold.

“Can I help you, my lady?” he asked. Despite the wind ruffling through the layers of cloth, giving them odd shapes, he was rather sure a woman was what he was looking at.

The figure turned, and now Edgar needed no special senses to tell she was not quite human. However, what he saw made little sense. Her face was disfigured in much the same way that those of Skals were, but not to the degree one would find in them, showing no loose skin or open wounds; yet the very fact that she had any disfigurements meant she could be no Ekon. Perhaps she was a newly turned Skal still in possession of some senses? But she did not look at him with fear or confusion, but seized him up with a focused look.

“Dr. Reid left strong progeny when he went away,” she said, her voice deep and low, calm like the sea. “I’m sure you saw me on my first night here, and I am not usually seen.”

“Well, I thank you for the compliment,” Edgar said slowly, finding himself stalling, surprised that she knew about Jonathan and Edgar’s connection to him – and that she was forming full, clear sentences at all. “It seems like you wanted me to find you now, though.”

“Perhaps.” She took a step towards him. There was a slow grace in her motions, no hint of shuffling uncertainty. “According to Dr. Reid, you were quite instrumental in the fate of this city, so I figured it might be a good thing to at least speak to you once, Dr. Swansea. You should realise by now that London has many eyes, though a lot have closed since the epidemic ravaged it.”

Of all things here, this Edgar understood the best: it was undeniably a threat, if a softly spoken one, and a reminder.

“If Jonathan trusted you with so much, you must know I never intended to doom this city. It’s the furthest from the goal I had.”

“I do. Of course, I don’t know you well enough to say whether Dr. Reid judged you correctly. It’s why I wanted to meet you,” she answered. “But of one burden at least I can free you, should you have meant well: you did not doom London. It’s arrogant for a single man to think he can.”

“You can be very sure I am not proud of the damage that has happened,” Edgar said, feeling the sting though he had no idea who she was. Now that Jonathan was gone, only he had spoken to himself of his regrets lately, but her voice was clearer and harsher than his thoughts.

“Is that so? You already wielded more power than any Ekon in this city when you were only a human. You might not see it that way now, but in my experience, in a few decades, you might remember it like that.”

The woman turned and touched the barred gate to the storage rooms behind her. By the time Edgar had caught up to the spot where she had vanished, she was gone, and he could not even find her heartbeat in the silence of the night anymore.

-

The Ascalon Club was not unknown to Edgar due to his work with the Brotherhood, and their exploits during the weeks of the epidemic had been relayed to him in some small parts by Jonathan. When he found a letter with just his name among his correspondence, heavy parchment sealed with thick red wax stamped with the shape of a lion on its hind legs, he needed only a moment to guess that he was looking at William Marshall’s coat of arms.

He broke the seal and found inside a short invitation by Lord Redgrave ‘at his earliest convenience’, written in a flowing hand, but before he could do as much as form a complete thought on it, there was a knock at the door and nurse Branagan called him in for an emergency arrival. Thankfully, this one did not come covered with blood, but only in his own sick. It was much preferable these days, strange to say, for at least that still allowed Edgar to keep his head. His newfound powers also needed him to do little more than take a glance at a mortal to know exactly what ailed them. Despite the small drawback of the too-great interest in wounded patients, he would say that becoming an Ekon was all in all a very positive thing for his chosen mission of helping people. How strange that their advantages in this field had never been documented! Still, he could not be angry that even after studying Ekons for half his life there was so much left to learn. Anyone with an active mind could hardly have asked for a better gift, in truth.

It was already grey morning when he left the hospital for his home in the West End, walking to his small black car he had parked at the curb of the street in the back. He had just turned the key in the lock when he heard a voice behind him.

“The Ascalon Club has bled many members thanks to Dr. Reid. It seems they are trying to replenish their numbers.”

Edgar placed the voice immediately, for he had not forgotten the strange meeting he’d had at the river last week. Turning, he found the woman standing in the shadow of a building, peering at him out of bright eyes under the shawl she had draped over her head. Taking a closer look now, he found that the fabrics she wore, old and torn as they were, must once have been of good make. He saw intricate lace and patterns on them. Though the pearls around her neck were smudged, he would guess they were real. In that, perhaps, her attire was a reflection of the woman herself, for Edgar figured that if you subtracted the swelling and bruises and discolorations that her deteriorating body had left her with, she would have been stunningly beautiful. As it was, however, he found her quite a bit more striking than any woman he’d seen before.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said.

A shadow of a smile touched her lips, as if she was amused by his attempt to keep up some form of manners.

“Good morning,” she answered.

“I have wondered if I would see you again.” He had wondered a lot about her. Perhaps he should have been scared to have a silent watcher, but mysteries always intrigued him more than they frightened him. “I figured you were a newborn Skal when I first saw you, for how much you carried yourself still like a mortal, but it seems that I can put aside that hypothesis. I doubt you would know about the Ascalon Club in that case.”

“You are right,” the woman said.

She said nothing more. It did not seem like she intended to answer his implied question for him. With some exertion, Edgar forced himself to put it aside for a brief moment.

“How do you know about the invitation?”

“I saw their messenger come this way. Lord Redgrave knows as well as I that Dr. Reid’s blood flows strong in his progeny. He will want someone like you under his control.”

“Yes, I figured that much,” Edgar said with a brief nod.

“Will you go?”

“Oh, I should say yes! I may not intend to become a member, but I do admit that I am curious to meet this secretive society. Jonathan made it sound quite exciting.”

“Your curiosity always seems to lead you down dangerous paths, Dr. Swansea,” the woman answered, putting her hands on her hips as she gave him a doubtful glance. “The Ascalon club is not to be trifled with, even now in its weakened state.”

“Do not worry, I have no intention of picking any fights.”

“We all have the best intentions, Dr. Swansea.”

Edgar wondered if she was hinting at his regrettable misstep regarding Lady Ashbury’s blood once more, but chose not to prod.

“You ask many questions of me. May I ask you something?” he said, instead.

“You may, but I may not answer.”

With a small, delicate gesture of her hand she sorted through the shawl she was wearing.

“What is your name?”

“Some call me the Sewer Dog.”

“Well, I would really rather not!” Edgar answered, baffled.

He found another brief smile flickering on the woman’s lips, though her pale gaze remained wary.

“Old Bridget will do,” she said. “That’s what those who want a name say.”

“And you are a… Skal?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so different from all the other Skals? I have studied many texts in the Brotherhood’s archives, but I have never read of a Skal who seems so lucid.”

“I think I am not as different from most Skals than many Ekons and their admirers think,” she said, with a trace of dry sarcasm. “It’s just that humans do not find us nearly as fascinating, so they write little of us and never speak to my kind. Nevertheless, yes, I am different, though not the only one. I lived under the city with a group of Skals more like the ones you know to protect them from Ekons and humans and themselves.”

Edgar noted her use of the past tense as much as the tired, melancholic tone to her voice.

“What happened?”

“I decided to take in your patient Harriet. She killed most of my people when the epidemic fully turned her into the monster she became.”

Though she was guarded and kept her face blank, it was clear to Edgar that this had hurt her deeply, and to see the evidence of the damage he’d done in someone’s eyes – it was always the hardest part. Though he still considered his mistake an honest one, this felt little different than facing the families left behind by people who had died on his operating table.

“I apologise that my actions have caused you so much grieve…”

“I can’t put it all on you, Dr. Swansea. I let her in because I wanted to help.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps that is why I feel the need to keep talking to you. I don’t know yet if you are a bad man, but I do know that sometimes it doesn’t matter. And after all, even after as many years as I have lived, one can still be prone to the same mistake that you made. Didn’t I also figure that I had a better chance at helping Harriet than anyone else, just like you when you gave her the Ekon blood?” She took a step backwards into the shadows between the houses. “That is enough talk for now. The sun will come up. If you have need to speak to me, come to the beach by the East End docks at night. We might meet there.”

“You are welcome to visit me here, too. Considering all the details you are aware of, you seem to be a friend of Jonathan’s, and I would like to know more about you,” Edgar said honestly. “And, without wishing to be indelicate, should you ever find yourself troubled for – sustenance… we do have a morgue, after all.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Perhaps, Edgar thought, he had managed to surprise her.

“Goodbye, Dr. Swansea. Be careful about the Ascalon Club,” she said, and then she was gone, as quickly as before, untraceable like a dream after waking.

-

“It does put you in a curious position, does it not?” Usher asked, not looking up from the stack of scrolls he was sorting through, new additions to the Brotherhood’s library.

They sat together in the upper story of the old mansion that had been declared the archives and main meeting point long before Edgar had been born. Unlike their cousins of the Guard of Priwen, the Brotherhood of St. Paul’s Stole thankfully did not have to duck into abandoned houses and dirty taverns to conduct their business. To the outside world, they were simply another club dedicated to various anthropological scholarly pursuits.

“Indeed! But I think it can only be a boon to the Brotherhood of the Stole to have a vampire as a member for first-hand studies.”

“Unless, of course, you or the Ascalon Club start to think that some of the things we find are not the kind you deem we should know,” Usher said gently.

Edgar drew himself up in the plush armchair.

“Please, Usher. You should know me better than that. I respect science over personal gain, and if I had a mind to kowtow to the Ascalon Club, I would hardly have told you about their invitation. Besides, it’s not like there aren’t already many ways known to kill an Ekon. I’m sure Geoffrey McCullum would be happy to enlighten you.”

Usher gave him an unreadable gaze and a smile before he returned his attention to the scrolls.

“I have heard you have met an old acquaintance of mine,” he answered.

“I don’t know who you’re speaking of, I’m afraid,” Edgar said, just a little impatient with the usual opaqueness greeting him once more. You could hardly ever finish a strand of thought with Usher before he jumped to a new topic, giving you the impression he had formed some final opinion before you were allowed to get your arguments in. This certainly did not put Edgar in the mood to play a guessing game.

“Old Bridget,” Usher clarified.

Well, he had not expected that. Putting aside his misgivings for a moment for a burst of curiosity, Edgar leaned forward towards him.

“Yes, that’s true. A remarkable woman! Do you know what type of Skal she is?”

Usher paused to demonstratively think for a moment.

“A rare sort. It just surprised me that she revealed herself to you.”

The answer was as typical for him as it was annoying to Edgar. Though Usher might find it diverting, he did not think that someone leading a society for the gathering and useful application of knowledge should be talking in riddles quite so much. Who did Usher’s no doubt considerable wisdom serve if he didn’t want to share it with his brothers? It was one of the reasons that he had considered at times whether it would not be better to try to take this spot from him.

“How did you know I met her?” he asked.

“The cards told me.”

“Oh, of course.”

Edgar let out a small sigh. As Usher turned back to his scrolls, he had a feeling that part of the conversation was over now, too. Why had he even asked, then? The man could be infuriating.

-

For how careful so many people wanted him to be about the Ascalon Club, Edgar’s first meeting with Lord Redgrave was remarkably uneventful. A man in a dark suit opened the door at the club house for him after he gave his name. The leader met him in one of the rooms adjacent to the wide entrance hall, a place furnished lavishly but tastefully, in the proud, understated way of old wealth.

“I always had a feeling you would one day find a way to join our ranks,” Redgrave said, after greeting Edgar with formal stiffness.

Edgar chose to ignore the hint. It was not new to him that some found him overenthusiastic in regards to his interest in vampires. Several of his Brothers of the Stole had teased (and sometimes outright mocked) him much in the same manner. But whatever Redgrave had thought of him before, Edgar was an Ekon now, and one of a strong bloodline at that, so they had but a brief and pleasant conversation without other veiled insults.

Though the exact ways in which Jonathan had turned still remained a mystery, it had to be plain to the Ascalon Club after their altercations with Jonathan that Edgar’s sire was an exceptionally strong member of their species, and strength faded slowly down the lines of vampire generations, meaning Edgar still had lots of potential. It was, in truth, a little gratifying to know that perhaps Redgrave thought that it would be better not to make Edgar an enemy. Of course, Edgar had little ambition to become a menace in the martial sense, but he would not mind finding a position of some influence in the society of immortals he had now been inducted to, though he doubted he would do it by way of the Ascalon Club. He had always found that systems were best changed from within and while his birth as a male into a reasonably well-regarded and wealthy family had given him that chance in the world of mortals, perhaps Jonathan’s blood would do so in this new environment. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same – the luck of good birth was still quite evidently important, but then, all Ekons were at least an echelon above the Skals that were the product of the weakest of the Ekon kind.

It was thoughts like this that flitted through Edgar’s head as, walking home through the empty West End streets past midnight, he saw a man cower at the edge of the halo of light spread by a gas lamp before a closed restaurant. At first, the creature caught Edgar’s attention because he looked weak and could be a human in need of aid, but even a cursory look revealed to Edgar his true nature – and thus that he was quite beyond help.

The thing looked up at him. Automatically, Edgar took a step backwards. However, the Skal did not lunge at him. He seemed as careful as Edgar, frightened, shaking, like someone caught in a deep fever. His face was lopsided, as if his jaw had been dislocated. There was none of the poised attentiveness he had seen in Old Bridget’s face, nothing so human, but he did not seem to be wholly beast yet, either. That, or he had fed and was sated.

 _Beyond help._ Perhaps that was not wholly true, Edgar realised, as the image of Old Bridget came to his mind. An attempt to help would be better than nothing, which was his only other option, as he was not strong enough to win the fight it would take to put the man out of his misery for good.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, focusing only on the man.

“Sir,” he said, looking him directly in the face, “listen to me.”

The Skal jolted like he’d gotten an electric shock. With his mind weakened by his regrettable state, there was no way he could resist an Ekon’s mesmerising voice. Despite his pity for the man, Edgar could not but feel a hint of excitement that he had already gotten this art so well under control.

“Do you know the beach towards Southwark at the East End docks?”

The nod of the Skal’s head was a jerking movement, but it was one.

“You need to go there straightaway. Make no delays and wait there for a woman. She will find you.”

Or at least he hoped so. If Old Bridget had taken in Skals before, she might be willing to help another. At the very least Edgar was sure that she’d prefer he were with her than that he caused havoc in the streets. As the creature gave him a last uncertain glance and then slowly unfolded his gangly body and shuffled away, Edgar wondered if it was for the sake of the humans or her own kind that Old Bridget was worried about her fellow Skals. Certainly it seemed to him like she cared in some manner for London as a whole, which was remarkable in itself. She seemed to him an older soul – as her, for a lady, rather impolite moniker would suggest as well. Many Ekons, however, seemed to lose the will to care for much but themselves after too many years. How much more difficult did it have to be for a Skal who always had to hide away? And how could you still worry for those who showed you only disgust? How did some Skals survive for so many years, the ones that kept even a flicker of humanity alive, and did not succumb to the temptation of suicide?

He could not but admit that in some respects this Bridget had been right, Edgar considered, as he followed the road towards the narrow, sturdy dark brick house he had bought for himself some years ago. Ekons were of course the more obviously fascinating vampire type, Skals often only seen as their regrettable thin-blooded refuse. There was usually very little speaking to be had with them. But, as Old Bridget had said, who had even tried?

-

“Good evening, Dr. Swansea.”

“Good heavens!”

Edgar almost dropped the keys to Pembroke’s back entrance when Old Bridget suddenly appeared at the edge of his vision. For a fleeting moment, there was a smile on her lips. Edgar took a deep, steadying breath and put the keys in his pocket.

“Good evening,” he said, unable to hide both how shocked and how impressed he was. “I have no idea how you keep sneaking up on me! My senses have grown immensely, yet you seem to escape them entirely.”

“In comparison to your human experience, it must be quite the change. But in contrast to most older vampires, you are still a fledgling easily cheated,” she answered.

“And you are much older?”

Her raised eyebrow told him she was not going to be tricked if he fished so bluntly for information. It only redoubled Edgar’s curiosity, but he could see that she would not indulge him now.

“What brings you to me, my lady?”

“You will insist on calling me that?” she asked, as they slowly walked away from the building towards the street. The cold wind tore at her veil. He could not see whether she had any hair on her head at all, but thought in that moment that it barely mattered. The dark cloth seemed to fit her much better than anything so ordinary as some tresses.

“I will insist on calling any woman that if she has not offered me her first name – and doesn’t seem to have a last one.”

“Old Bridget will do.”

“Perhaps Bridget. Anything else doesn’t seem very courteous.”

“It’s not discourteous to be honest. But I’m also not trying to make you uncomfortable.” She lowered her head slightly against the wind, looking ever more like a dark portrait of some noble lady in the back of a forgotten mansion as she did so.

“You’re welcome to call me Edgar, of course.”

“How did you find your visit to the Ascalon Club, Edgar?”

Edgar had come on foot today, enjoying a rare mild evening, but the wind now taught him he should not have trusted the good weather to last for the night. However, he did not rue his decision, for it gave him a chance to walk with Bridget now, which was a great deal more natural than whispering to her in some dark corner.

“A very – traditional institution, it would seem. Lord Redgrave seems quite convinced of its overwhelming importance.”

“I had figured you for someone who may share his opinion.”

“Please, I may be younger than you, but for a human, I am hardly a naive student anymore, impressed by any man with the right accent and accessories,” Edgar said, waving his hand. “The Ascalon Club does seem to move much behind the scenes, as the Brothers of the Stole well now, but it is hardly all-important. Jonathan managed just fine without them. I will be happy to stay on the fringes and observe.”

“Lord Redgrave may not be happy for you to remain there,” Bridget noted.

“We shall see. Perhaps he doesn’t want my fingers in all his affairs, either.”

They halted at a street to let a carriage pass. The horse’s hooves sounded in the distance for long moments.

“I have to say, when I’m outside the hospital, the world has become so much quieter now that I cannot walk in the sun,” Edgar said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it will not be so obvious in summer when people linger outside longer, but for now the difference is – well, night and day!”

He snorted at his own flat joke and found Bridget shaking her head.

“It used to be much quieter and darker.” She paused. “The street lamps are new.”

“So you are old enough to remember the streets without lamps. Interesting,” he teased.

This made her smile, finally, which Edgar enjoyed. It took some years and pain off her bruised face. “I wager _you_ are old enough to still know a London where not every alley was lit, young man.”

Edgar had to laugh. She wasn’t wrong.

“I did find out one thing about you,” he said, after a moment. “You know Usher Talltree.”

“Did you ask him about me?”

“One shouldn’t speak about a lady in her absence,” he said, evasively. Especially not one so secretive as Bridget. Though he had wished to know what she was, it would have made him guilty to ask Usher about her person. “No, he asked about you, though I have no idea how he knows we have spoken.”

Bridget nodded her head. She seemed to believe this despite the fact that Usher had virtually no way to have seen them together with how short and clandestine their meetings had been, and considering the fact the Brotherhood of the Stole had no spies. Anyone who knew Usher, however, would not find those facts obstacles.

“I do not know him well, nor he me.” She glanced at him. “But he always knows more of everyone than one thinks.”

“And he doesn’t wish to share any of that knowledge,” Edgar said with a measured sigh. “Not a quality you would wish in the leader of the Brotherhood of the Stole. I would handle it much differently...”

“Have you any ambitions to do so?” Bridget asked.

“Well, right now I have a plague at my hands still! The Spanish flu was not wiped from London, regrettably. But perhaps when the nights are slower... one never knows.”

For a moment, Bridget walked silently by his side, gaze turned to the cobblestone. Then she stopped dead at the corner of the street.

“The Brotherhood of the Stole is none of my business,” she said, “and I do not get involved in such things. But – I have found the young Skal you sent to me. He told me that he’d been ordered to come to the place I told you of by a man who matched your description.”

Edgar brightened.

“It’s good to hear he arrived in one piece. I figured perhaps he would do less damage with your care than if he’d gone unchecked, and anyway, the Guard might have found him soon...”

“Yes, and few Ekons would have been bothered about that outcome. It’s rare one of your kind takes pity on one of mine. So that’s why I want to give you some advice: You may want to see if your archives hold any information on the dealings of ancient Zoroastrian magi with the undead.”

There was a warning in her voice, but also something more kindly, a spark of hope, perhaps, that he would take her advice. It was that which smothered the indignation of being reined in that Edgar so often felt, combined with his interest in her words.

“This is where I leave you,” Bridget said, before he had a chance to answer. “I do not walk the West End often.”

She vanished especially quickly this time and Edgar wondered for a moment if she’d done it on purpose just to tease him.

-

The archives of the Brotherhood of the Stole were vast and not in all parts well-kept. Where no proper cataloguing had taken place yet, the documents and books were piled in vague thematic heaps. This left him digging his way through the back rooms of their collections, holding a hand before his mouth and nose as dust clouds greeted him with every book and stack of sheets he moved.

He was almost about to give up for the night when he found a rustled collection of a few papers held together by string, squeezed between two books about the nature of ancient Iranian religions. It was the “Story of a Goule”, a tale from the _Arabian Nights_ translated by William Godwin, who some one hundred years ago had been a member of the Brotherhood. Edgar scanned it quickly. It was the account of a sorceress whose evil nature was revealed when her husband, made curious by her strange eating habits, followed her in secret as she left the house on her own at night. To his dismay, the husband saw her sharing a meal of a corpse with a ghoul in a graveyard. When she found out about his following her, she turned the man into a dog.

Several notes had been scrawled in the corners, among them ‘Skal?’ and ‘rice counting probably folk tale addition’ and ‘power to transform others into animal incongruent’. The pages were all of the same quality and cut except for one, which had been stuck at the end. This one was written in pen, faded with the years.

_The creature eats dead flesh, but is not a Skal, as no outer marks seem to be on her. No fear of the sun is mentioned. However, not every atypical vampire behaviour is a sign of a new line like the Vulkod or other creatures that pass on their species to their progeny. I have found accounts older than this one reaching back to the first appearance of the then so-called Zoroastrian heresy in the region this story originated in. They tell of their teachers (the magi) experimenting on willing immortals, creating unique off-shoots of regular branches. An Ekon may have given up their privilege of not feeding on corpses and other talents in exchange for being able to face the sunlight, heighten their powers of transformation and transfiguration or their preternatural cognitive abilities, expanding them even as far as to include clairvoyance._

For a moment, Edgar sat very still with the papers in hand. He could, of course, not say if Bridget had known of the existence of this particular document, in fact, he very much doubted it. Perhaps she had meant for him to find entirely different information. This could just be the idle speculations of some brother of his or another. There was no signature, after all.

But this small, neat hand looked terribly familiar. Edgar had seen it often enough on hand-written invitations to special club gatherings he had gotten over the years.

He put the papers back where he had found them and dusted his suit off before hastily leaving the dark archives room behind.

-

Bridget waited by his car some nights later, a shadow against the wall, shawl drawn deep into her face. The sight did not startle Edward anymore; he had been waiting for it.

“Good evening,” he said as he approached. “I had hoped you would come by. I would have visited you at the docks, but I’ve been frightfully busy at the hospital.”

“It’s important work,” Bridget said, lifting her head to hold his gaze with her pale eyes. “Have you had any time to look into what I told you about?”

“I have.” Edgar hesitated. He still had not quite gotten over the disquiet. How could he not have noticed anything for so long? “It seems you have kept me from walking into a very dangerous fight.”

If what he had read was true, Usher may well be a vampire many centuries old and completely unpredictable in his talents.

“If I have indeed kept you, that is good news. I was not so certain it would be enough to stifle your enthusiasm,” Bridget gave back.

Edgar smiled at her. “Now, now, I’m not unreasonable! I will even refrain from studying Usher as much as I can, though the thought came to me. I do wonder how you knew that I would find anything, though. Have you been to our archives?”

“No. But I know Usher, as I said. He has never been someone who takes a fight he can avoid. Spilling blood is not his way, though it doesn’t mean he can’t. Had you been more obvious, perhaps he would have eventually sent you to the archives himself.” She shrugged. “Or he would have killed you. It depends on how dangerous he thought you.”

“That explains why he wrote a note all but spelling out what he is,” Edgar murmured.

The flicker of a smile appeared on Bridget’s lips. “Did he? I suppose he had little choice. Your Brotherhood still lacks a lot of knowledge about the world of the undead.”

Edgar shook his head. “At least it means there will be much to do for me. I have a feeling immortal life will not become tedious to me for a good long while!” He offered her his hand. “But I must thank you for your advice. Perhaps you would allow me to return at least a little of the favour. I would love to have you over for dinner some evening.”

It seemed to him that it would be a good idea to get to know Bridget more closely. Obviously, she was wise beyond Edgar’s years and willing to extend a helping hand, which spoke of her good character. One should always endeavour to make friends of such people, in his opinion, because the world held many worse ones. Besides, she may be ready to share more of her knowledge with him if she trusted him.

“Dinner?” Bridget asked, now with soft amusement in her voice. “What would we eat?”

“What we always eat. Just because we have other habits now, we needn’t be ashamed. Especially not when I can acquire food for us at my hospital without any need to hunt and tear down an innocent life.”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to wear that would make me look at home in your West End house, Ekon.”

Briefly, Edgar took in her long, flowing garments. They were torn and stained, to be true, but Bridget wore them with such poise that they seemed not simply like rags to him, but more like the worn yet entirely becoming clothes of a well-crafted antique doll.

“Beautiful women have the entirely unfair advantage that they can wear anything and it always seems appropriate.”

Bridget gave him a long look.

“I don’t see the point in mocking me. Do you think I’m unaware of my state?” she asked, not unkindly.

“What? No!” Edgar answered, honestly surprised by her reaction. He certainly had not meant to insult her. “I – well, I don’t wish to be impertinent, but I have no reason to lie to you about the fact that you are an impressive sight. You are a Skal, yes, that one cannot deny, but why would that matter to me? I am undead myself.”

As a vampire, he was not bound by instinctive fears humans had of wounds and sickness, and even as a mortal the macabre had never repelled him.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but seemed to find no trace of a lie great enough to hold on to. After another moment of silence, she took a deep breath.

“As usual, your charm cannot be denied, Edgar, though I wonder of its goal. Very well. I admit it has been a long time since I have last properly dined with anyone, so allow me to accept your gracious invitation.”

“Wonderful! How about next Sunday? Would you like me to pick you up somewhere by car? You did say you do not like walking the West End.”

“I will meet you by the bridge that leads up north from the docks,” Bridget said after a last moment of hesitation.

“Brilliant.”

Edgar gave her a wide smile that Bridget returned with a very brief one of her own.

-

“I’ve always liked the Thames.”

Edward looked out over the river with Bridget. Fog billowed up over the slow-moving waters that moved silently against their stone prison. Further down at the pier, he saw the shadows of fright ships through the white wisps.

“One would think that with all the dirt that gets shovelled in daily it would lose some of its grandeur, but it never does,” he agreed.

“Something you learn if you live longer is that most of the bigger things rarely ever perish. Nature is never going to bow before humanity no matter how many factories crowd the edges of London, and neither is this river going to dry up because it is polluted. Things change, but they don’t vanish. An immortal must learn to change, too, if they want to survive.”

Edgar wondered if she considered her immortal life one beset by grave challenges as much as the examples she’d chosen.

“You did say London could not be struck down, either. Do you think of it as one of these bigger things?” Edgar asked as Bridget stepped back from the stone railing.

“I said it couldn’t be taken down by one man, but the concerted effort of many might still do it. It is a very durable place, though. A lot of magic has been worked here over the years.”

Edgar huffed as she started on their way down the road towards the broader West End streets, where the lights would not be failing and struggling as they did here.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you know Usher. You two have the same habit of saying just enough to pique one’s curiosity and then never following up.”

“I’m not like Usher. It’s simply in his character to keep his cards close to his chest. I may just be trying to teach you to live with uncertainty.”

Edgar had to laugh at the answer.

“I suppose I do deserve it,” he admitted. “Are you sure you’re not just teasing me, though? You are smart enough that you must realise you may as well try to teach a fish to fly.”

Bridget opened her mouth to answer, but stopped herself. Edgar found himself falling quiet, too. There was a low moaning noise in an alleyway to their right from somewhere behind a broken-down car.

Instinctively, he made a step towards it. It sounded like someone in pain and as a doctor, it was not his way to pass by someone in need, even if the rooms at Pembroke were bursting already. However, Bridget’s hand tightened around his elbow.

“That-”

She was interrupted by a flash of dark mist that suddenly appeared next to them. With his heart almost jumping out of his chest, Edgar stumbled sideways into Bridget, an instinctive and not very elegant attempt to shield her, which at least did bring them both out of reach of the creature’s claws, if just for that moment.

Bridget pushed him off and behind her. Edgar threw a look over his shoulder and saw that they were facing a Skal. It was hard even to say whether the thing used to be a man and a woman; skin and flesh were hanging as loose as the shreds of dirt-stained clothing, and the remaining eye showed no flicker of human recognition as its head swivelled to focus on them again.

Bridget squared her shoulder and, suddenly, there were two of her. The perfect copy stood to the other side of Skal, further down the road, and gave a wordless yell.

The creature flung itself forward towards the noise, moving so fast that even with his new senses, it seemed to Edgar like it had teleported. Bridget, the real one standing by his side, chased after it.

For a moment, he could only stare. Edgar had seen Bridget act as much as a human as any Ekon could, but in the moment that she wrapped her arms around the back of the Skal’s shoulders and bit its neck, she seemed suddenly quite close to her wilder brethren.

The creature howled and slammed backwards into a wall. Between his back and the bricks, Bridget was forced to let go with a quiet whimper. Edgar walked forward, unsure what to do and yet determined to help, but before he had taken more than a step, the second Bridget suddenly stood an inch before him, making him stop dead. By the time he realised he could reach through her like air, the two Skals were locked in battle again. Bridget had jumped again, not away, but into the Skal, a force like a bullet, tearing him to the ground as its claws tore her arm open. She opened her mouth and bit clean through its throat.

As she freed herself from its weakening grip, the creature let out a gurgling noise that grew quieter and finally stopped. Bridget stood over him with a slight frown.

“It’s terrible to see them so far gone. There is no help then but to end it,” she said, so gentle that one could almost pretend not to see the blood running over her lips and chin and staining her teeth pink.

Edgar cleared his throat, trying to get his flying pulse back under control.

“I had no idea you were such a fighter.”

Bridget stepped away from the body, gingerly righting the shawl draped over her head. Edgar wondered if it was his vampire senses’ attraction to the blood that made her seem especially alluring in that moment, dreamlike in the fog; she looked like some beautiful, frightening thing out of a fairy tale.

“I am hardly extraordinary. As I said, I try to do well by my fellow Skals. This was not the first one I met who had let the hunger overtake him, though. I have to be able protect my people and myself.”

It made sense, Edgar supposed, that even someone who seemed so little warlike as Bridget would have no choice but to learn how to fight. She had probably not lived a life that allowed pacifism as an option, as Edgar still hoped to have. No one would protect her other than herself.

“I’m sorry I could not assist you,” he said.

“I know you wanted to, which is good of you, but you would have only strengthened him with your blood, and you did say you are no fighter.”

That explained why she had kept him out of the fray. An intelligent move, Edgar would admit. He had not considered that he might end up as fuel.

“No, I’m afraid I will be rather more useless than our friend Jonathan in these situations. But I _am_ a doctor. Perhaps you would still come home with me and let me take a look at your wounds.”

She hesitated briefly before giving a nod of her head.

-

“This is the first time I’ve been in a car,” Bridget said, as Edgar opened the door for her.

“What did you think of it?”

“A convenient way to hide, providing the driver means well for you.” She glanced back at the seat. “I may have gotten blood on it.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Car seats can be cleaned,” Edgar said, waving his right hand as he fumbled for the key in his pocket with the other. “There we are!”

He held the door to his home open for her and then locked the car before he followed her into the house. Bridget was standing before the human skeleton that was watching over the broad entrance hall from a corner.

“That’s my professor from King’s College.”

Bridget stared at him and the expression of open surprise on her face had Edgar laughing. She did not seem like someone who could be easily caught off-guard, so he admitted to some pride here.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t suck him dry. Poor old Harry, he was a good friend and a bit of an odd fellow. Left his organs to science and his bones to me, as I had mentioned to him once that I would like to have a real skeleton for the purposes of anatomical studies. He said in his will that it was how he would make up for forgetting my birthday so many times over the years.”

“Somehow, I can believe that this is the sort of eccentric you would befriend,” Bridget murmured.

“Careful, Bridget, you have come to my house as well. You wouldn’t want to inadvertently make a comment about yourself.”

She gave a small smile. “I am rather aware I am just more proof,” she said. “Can I wash my face somewhere?”

“If you’d feel at all comfortable with it, I’d suggest a bath.” He thought for a moment on the contents of his wardrobe before remembering a chest in a dusty corner of his attic. “I think my sister left some old garments of hers here at some point, so we could wash your clothes, if you want. Her things have been here for years. If she even remembers them, I’m sure she’d think them terribly out of fashion now, anyway.”

“That’s nice of you,” Bridget said, as if she was looking for a good explanation why he would feel the need to be friendly.

“You did probably save my life – well, as far as we are alive,” Edgar noted. “The least I can do is that.”

-

Bridget sat next to the tub while it filled while Edgar went to fetch an armful of dresses, shawls, and assorted other items Joanna had left behind in some in-between stage of the tumultuous move from their parent’s house into her husband’s home. When he had piled them on a chair for Bridget and pointed out the towels, Edgar told her he’d be in the waiting room if she needed him before excusing himself.

Sitting in his armchair, Edgar endeavoured to pick up a newspaper article about field medicine in France that he had been reading earlier this evening, but found his attention straying. His heart still sped up at the memory of Bridget’s fight with the Skal. What a woman she was! As shrewd as a scholar, and as strong as a soldier, with the calm mind of one who seemed to have watched the world pass by for many years with open eyes and mind. He’d figured that he would meet many interesting Ekons now that he himself was one of them, but he had not expected to find his most fascinating acquaintance yet among the thin-blooded Skals.

There was also a small, youthful, quiet voice in him that was distracted by the thought of her now in his bathroom, too, but he bit down on that, as it was entirely inappropriate. She was as beautiful in her way as she was intriguing, but he could not at all guess what she thought of him behind her measuring gaze.

Bridget herself drew him from his thoughts. The dress she had chosen was a plain blue, tighter at the waist than her usual garments, underlining a lithe figure underneath. It had short sleeves and showed the claw marks on her arm, as well as older scratches, badly healed and aggravated, and bruises in all stages of colouring. A black shawl was again draped over her head and shoulders. He wondered if the back of her head was hurt from the hard shove against the wall, but had a feeling she would not let him take a look.

“Very fetching,” he said, “though I think a bandage on your arm is missing to complete the outfit.”

“I know it’s why you took me here, but you needn’t waste the material, doctor. Water suffices. This won’t heal in a good long while, but eventually, it will be gone. There is very little that helps Skals but patience.”

“Not even blood or meat? Ekons seem to heal faster after feeding.”

She shook her head as she sat on the sofa opposite of him.

“Skals cannot channel their energy in that way. We must wait, but we do have time, after all. A lot of time.” She hesitated, her hands folded on her knees. “There is one thing that helps a little, though we cannot come by it.”

“What is it?” Edgar asked, leaning forward. “I do wish to help you now, but even if I can’t, it could be that in the future I may have a Skal patient or two. Perhaps I can acquire it!”

“You are looking to extend your practice?” she asked.

“Obviously! Ekons, but Skals also, and all other kinds of vampires I can get in contact with. The perspective of a doctor has long been missing in our studies. And the Skals do seem to be the ones who suffer most, due to your affliction.”

Edgar wondered for a moment if he should have been quite so enthusiastic in his answer, since Bridget was one of those who lived that suffering every day. However, she seemed more bemused than insulted.

“It’s easy to believe you, Edgar, I will give you that,” she said. “Still, Ekon blood is the only thing that I know of that can help a Skal.”

Edgar gave her a perplexed look.

“Ekon blood?” He rubbed his chin, turning the idea over in his head. “Well, I suppose it make sense. Skals are a sub-form of Ekons, after all, and – no offense – apparently in some genealogical form lesser.” He paused, glancing back at her. She said it was the only thing she had ever known to help a Skal. Perhaps... “Is that why you are so different?”

“You understand quickly,” she answered, folding her arms across her chest. “But it only works on our minds when given no less than a day or two after the transformation, and even then it’s a matter of luck. I would advise you against experimenting with it also, should the thought cross your mind the next time you see a new-born Skal. Even if it works, I would not dare say whether being in full possession of your senses in this state is a blessing or a curse.”

It was a bleak thing to say, though she spoke like she was only stating a fact. Edgar had a feeling she did not want his pity. However, he did have something she might want.

“I will keep my hands off other Skals, I assure you.” She was already the perfect specimen of a cured Skal, anyway. “But wouldn’t it be very easy for you to acquire Ekon blood right now? You’re sitting in a room with one and I did promise you dinner, after all.”

“You promised blood from the hospital.”

“And I can drink that to replenish.”

Even during the fight, Edgar had only seen the look of careful calculation leave Bridget’s face for an instinctive grimace of pain or exertion. Now, for the first time, he noticed hunger in her eyes, warring with shyness, good manners, or doubt.

“I’ll get you a glass,” he said.

Since she had saved him, the least he could do for her was prevent her from talking herself out of something she obviously wanted. Rotting meat may have been sufficient for Skals, but he doubted it was enjoyable to eat, and he knew how gnawing the hunger of immortals could get.

After choosing one of his late mother’s favourite wine glasses out of a cabinet, Edgar grabbed a hunting knife from a shelf and cut his wrist, draining enough blood to fill the glass halfway. Then, he pressed a thumb on the wound and watched with glee as the blood reached up like vines and closed up his skin, leaving it untouched. The powers of Ekons were remarkable indeed. But he would not now get distracted by his own new nature.

“How sophisticated,” she said, though her usual dry note of humour was replaced by anticipation.

“I do like keeping a touch of human manners,” Edgar answered, smiling.

Though it did not seem like Bridget would be able to taste the blood like fine wine. The moment he handed her the glass, she had put it to her lips and drank greedily. He did not blame her, of course. His own feeding had at times been much messier. At least she made sure that every drop of blood ended up in her mouth, which he hadn’t always managed.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she lowered the glass.

“Thank you,” she said, hesitantly.

“No problem at all. If I may be so indiscreet… does Ekon blood taste differently to you than that of humans?”

It seemed that she was willing to forgive him his habitual nosiness, for she sat back and looked off for a moment as if contemplating her answer.

“Once you have tasted it, I doubt a Skal ever truly craves anything else ever again,” she answered slowly.

“Indeed?” Edgar shook his head. “How interesting! I wonder if there is any scientific reasoning for that, perhaps to do with the strength of vampire blood in Ekons and Skals.” He paused. “What does Skal blood taste like to Ekons, I wonder?”

Bridget rose from the sofa after placing the glass on a low table, her hand tightening around it before she was ready to let it go completely.

“According to the Ekons I have spoken to, not good.”

“I suppose that might make sense if we posit that the more powerful the blood is, the better it tastes, broadly speaking. Although I do think that your scent is very pleasant, so it would surprise me if…”

Edgar stopped himself, noting that in his meandering he may have stumbled into a somewhat impolite remark. It was true that now that he was a vampire he had a heightened sense of smell that allowed him to separate people by their scent alone, but it was not something you would necessarily speak about, even if Bridget surely knew.

Bridget grinned briefly. It was quite a beautiful look on her – a pity she did not do it too often.

“I admire your unflinching good manners. You never fail to compliment even me,” she said, shaking her head.

Her reaction fed Edgar’s confidence a little.

“I try to honour my upbringing, but I must underline that my comments to all your good qualities are hardly the result of decorum. They are, in fact, more a failure of my self-control.”

“Then I suppose I must thank you kindly,” she answered, slowly, her eyes searching his face.

When they said goodbye shortly after, Edgar found himself standing in the doorway for a moment watching as she descended the stairs.

“Are you sure I can’t drive you back?”

“It’s much past midnight now, I doubt I will be seen even here. I wish you a pleasant night, Edgar.”

“Very well. I hope you get home safely.”

Before she slipped away into the shadows, Edgar thought he saw her glancing over her shoulder back at him once more.

-

Edgar had been enjoying his stints at the Ascalon Club. As a visitor and potential candidate rather than a member, he was invited only to informal discussions and meetings, but even that allowed him many glimpses behind the curtain from overheard conversations and allusions made by members who were very eager to boast of their power at every possible opportunity. It was downright disquieting to learn into how many branches of business and government the undead had burrowed into, and how effectively they could beat mortal adversaries often just by sheer capability to outwait them, if not their mental powers of manipulation that allowed them to let men and women move to their devices against their own will.

One evening, Edgar found himself approached by Redgrave once more. He had made hints to the tune of Edgar joining before, but as they stood overlooking the quiet West End street through a window, Redgrave picked the topic up again in earnest for the first time.

“We do wish that our members prove their worth to our establishment,” Redgrave said, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Naturally,” Edgar said vaguely.

In truth, Edgar was not sure if he wanted that much commitment to Ascalon. Bridget’s and even Usher’s warnings as well as Jonathan’s tales of the place were still bright in his mind. It had been nice to get a look inside, but if he had to pay too dearly for it, he would rather keep his freedom.

“What I would like you to do is comparatively easy. It is just one person I would need you to kill.”

This would have been the moment to turn on his heel, but once more, Edgar found a morbid curiosity grip him.

“Someone in my hospital’s care?” he guessed. It was the most logical task to give him, as Redgrave had to be aware he was not much of a combatant.

“No. She is a Skal… a despicable shadow of a woman. You were seen by one of my men together at the East End quay. I believe they call her Old Bridget.”

For a moment, Edgar has serious trouble keeping his expression under control.

“I haven’t met her often,” he said, carefully.

“Yet if she spoke to you of her own volition, then of everyone in this mansion, you likely have the best chance to meet her again. She is slippery like a rat.”

“And likely as dangerous as one,” Edgar said, trying to sound casual. “She did not seem especially intimidating to me.”

For a moment, Redgrave’s gaze flickered out onto the street.

“She is a Skal and they are always likely to betray our existence to the humans, especially when they are as cunning as her. There doesn’t need to be more reason than that.”

But, Edgar was sure, there was.

-

Though he had sent the young Skal here, Edgar had never himself come to the beach where Bridget had told him they could meet. It was cold and windy with hail coming down and he crouched under the wooden walkway for protection, hoping that she would find him soon, wherever it was that she was hiding.

When she did appear after a half hour of waiting, it was from upstairs. She had changed her dress, but wore the same shawl that Edgar had given her, now hanging wet over her head and shoulders like a black shroud. She spotted him immediately.

“This is an unusual night for a visit, Edgar,” she said, a note of concern in her voice. “You do not come bearing good news?”

“I am afraid not,” Edgar said.

She stepped up to him, her feet quiet on the sand.

“I think I have put you in danger.”

The words tasted especially bitter because it was not the first time – even though he had not known her then, and his treatment of Harriet hadn’t had that goal.

“What happened?” she asked calmly.

“Lord Redgrave would like to induct me into the Ascalon Club. My proof of loyalty would be your dead body. Apparently, we have been seen together.”

There was a look of consternation on her face now, but not one of surprise.

“I did tell you to be careful with them, but I can’t claim that I suspected that, either. He hasn’t cared about my presence in this city in so many years, even though he knew I was here.” She sighed. “In fact, I think I am also at fault. During the nights I spent around Dr. Reid, I became too daring, walking where I knew Redgrave would see me. It was only going to reawaken old grudges.”

“I know it is none of my business how you two know each other, but I just can’t imagine why he would want you dead.”

“You really have improved a little, Edgar,” she said with a weak smile. “Though in this case, I understand why you’d be curious.”

Called out by her once more, Edgar had to smile, too.

“I absolutely trust you have done nothing that would deserve such a judgement.”

“That may be a fatal error. You don’t know me that well.”

“Perhaps. But it seems you also trusted me,” Edgar pointed out. “I was worried that if I told you about Redgrave’s wish, you would think I had called you here to fulfil it.”

Bridget shook her head.

“You may be ambitious, but not in the crude, materialistic way of the men of the Ascalon Club. I think I know you that well.” She hesitated. “You’re right, though, I may be just as naïve as you. After all, I find myself convinced that in the end, you do have a good heart. Who am I to say?”

It was a strange thing to hear after everything that had happened, and hit him deeper than he thought it might, certainly for the fact that it came from a woman who seemed clever enough to see through him in a way that Edgar was not wholly certain he himself could anymore.

Perhaps it was that sudden surge of feelings that led him to kiss her as they stood there so close in the shadows.

It was a brief touch of their mouths and rather chaste, but Edgar found what stolen blood he had rush to his head as he leaned back hastily. She looked at him as if she’d seen a ghost.

“I’m very sorry, that was – I apologise.”

She fumbled with her sleeve, seemed to need a moment to compose herself.

“I did always wonder if you were serious.”

“Really?” Edgar gave an awkward laugh. “I don’t think I have been very subtle in the past.”

“No, but…” She stopped herself. “It is unusual for a man to look past so much, and for an Ekon to think this way of a Skal. But you are quite an unusual man and Ekon.”

“I wonder if that’s a compliment,” Edgar said.

She smiled briefly before she took his head in her hands and kissed him back. After a dizzy moment of happiness, Edgar put his arms around her waist.

“I am here by car. As you said, it’s easy to pass through the city unnoticed on the passenger’s seat,” he said as they had parted. “Perhaps it would be safer right now if you returned with me. Redgrave told me I had the best chance of finding you, but who knows who else he sent?”

“I think it is just you. I would wager he would rather as few people as possible still know about my existence. No one trusts anyone in the Ascalon Club, and they are right not to do so.” She gave a shrug. “But I cannot be sure, of course. After all, I didn’t think he would send you, either.”

“Then let us go. Perhaps with a little time we can think of a solution to this dilemma.”

How easy it would be if Jonathan were here! But this was Edgar’s problem to solve. He couldn’t always hope for his friend to clean up his mess, and he would not allow that Bridget would feel the brunt of his mistakes.

-

With Bridget back in his sitting room, Edgar breathed a little easier for now. After he had put away his wet coat, he brought her the clothes that he had put with his own laundry and set them down on the sofa next to her.

“It’s true we cannot get sick, but these might be more comfortable. Yours are damp,” he said.

“I’m surprised these survived a proper wash,” Bridget answered. “Thank you.”

He left to fidget in the hall after closing the door. Jonathan may have been able to handle Redgrave easily, and it was true that the Ascalon Club’s major fighting force had all fallen to Jonathan, but even if Redgrave had let nobody else now, that still left the man himself to deal with, and they were but a fledgling Ekon and a Skal, no match for such an ancient and powerful vampire as Redgrave was said to be.

Into his thoughts, the door opened, whining quietly on its hinges.

“I can hear you pacing out here,” Bridget said, waving him back in.

Edgar gave her an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry.” They sat down on the sofa together, the soft cushions sinking under their weight. “Believe me, I would try to fix this problem like Jonathan may have, but you may have a better chance of fighting him than I have, and as talented as you are… he is William Marshal’s progeny.”

“He’s not,” Bridget said after a long moment of quiet.

Edgar looked at her in surprise.

“He’s not a descendant of William Marshal’s, though I believe he did in fact know him. Even I do not know who Redgrave’s actual sire is.”

“But then, how can you be sure it’s not Marshal?”

She glanced at her feet and then back at him.

“Because I am his progeny.” Before Edgar could ask, she added: “I am also his wife.”

It was not often that Edgar found himself speechless, but these words did the trick.

“And what I am in addition is proof of his lesser bloodline he does not wish to acknowledge. His whole life was built on the lie of his heritage.” She took a deep breath. “He has told it so often, he may have started to believe it himself. I imagine that is why he figured he could preserve my often praised beauty for eternity by himself. He was an Ekon for long enough then to have known better, but if he had doubts about his abilities, he silenced them before he tried to turn me. This was the outcome.”

Edgar gaped.

“But what happened then? He was your husband. He could not have just sent you away, could he? Was he the Ekon who cured you, too?”

Bridget scoffed.

“Of course he could. I was not nearly as important as his pride and reputation.” She hesitated. “Though I am not sure if that was all. If he had wanted to keep me around, he need only have claimed I was jumped by a Skal in the streets. Not that I have known many Ekons who would have wanted a Skal in their house,” she added bitterly. “But I don’t think he thought much at all when he saw what I had turned into. I still remember the look on his face, the panic and disgust. He should have killed me then and there and could have, but instead he threw me out into the streets. It was like he thought he could unmake his mistake – or his own weak nature that had created me – if he just removed me from his sight.”

Though Edgar had never thought much of Redgrave, and knew enough about human nature not to be wholly surprised at such a reaction, he could still feel a burning flame of anger. How could a man treat his own wife like that?

“Back then… my mind was dim and clouded by hunger, but I still retained a little of my memories, so for hours I cowered in an alley by his house like a beaten dog, holding on to some instinctive thread of affection,” Bridget continued. “That was when one of his friends came by, another Ekon. I was unthinking and hungry, and I jumped at him, and before he could shake me off, I had tasted of his blood. My mind cleared. It made me smart enough to flee before they could come after me.”

“What a dreadful story,” Edgar said, unable to hide his distaste. He reached out to take her hand. Her skin was cool as she tightened her fingers around his. “I am so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I have made peace with it. I had hoped the same was true for him.”

For a moment, Edgar stared at their hands. An idea had come to him.

“He is still a very old vampire if he has known Marshal. But I am in the fortunate position that I am very high up my Maker’s bloodline. Jonathan had some powers I have never known outside of legends of the ancients and I am his direct progeny.”

“But you don’t fight.”

“No, but I have practiced my powers of persuasion a great deal. It’s the only art of vampirism I have really taken up. Perhaps I can mesmerise Redgrave.”

She looked doubtful.

“It might work, but it’s dangerous for you should he realise what you are doing.”

“I must at least try. It can’t be that after he threw you out of the house that you’ll have to flee the city, too, when you are only paying for his mistake – and now mine.”

She shook her head at him, though she looked only fond in that moment.

“My husband spoke much of chivalry, but it seems I have found my knight in a century much removed from armour and swords,” she said, a gently mocking edge to her voice.

Edgar cocked his head.

“It seems to me you are the knight, considering you have taken up arms to defend me before, in a manner of speaking. Wasn’t it the ladies in the old courts who had to resort to solving their problems through intrigue?”

She chuckled, the first time he’d heard that sound from her. However, instead of answering, she leaned over and kissed him again. Edgar was glad to draw her closer against him, as he had wished to do the last time she had been here on his couch. It was her hand on his chest that tempted him to drop his fingers a little too fast, but he pulled his arm back.

“My apologies.”

“Don’t worry. I must admit, I have missed this,” she muttered. “Especially with most of my old memories tainted by my husband’s image. And as for your speed – I have waited quite long.”

“Really? How long?” Edgar tried, though smiling, not even pretending she wouldn’t know what he was trying to do.

She let him wait for a moment, her fingernails digging gently in the back of his neck.

“One-hundred and eighty years exactly since me and my husband split,” she allowed, finally. “Now, did you guess correctly? I know you must have tried at some point.”

Edgar shook his head.

“I had several guesses, some older and some younger, but you seem ageless.” He brightened. “Though I must admit I am thrilled to think that I have met you when in the regular course of fate we should not even have been alive at the same time! I am very fortunate.”

“And very good at flattery.”

Her hands were still on him, idly undoing his waistcoat. It became hard to ignore, especially with the teasing invite in her voice.

“I would not usually be so forward, but…”

“One should not keep a lady waiting?” Bridget said, with a quirk to her lips.

“Very true! And you have already waited 180 years.”

Edgar pulled her closer, wondering if it was opportunity, loneliness, or perhaps affection that drove her into his arms. He did hope for at least a little of the latter, for he felt it warm in his own chest, intoxicating even with the expectation that he would soon have to challenge a centuries-old vampire hanging over him. However, with Bridget’s hands sliding up into his hair, it was so deceptively easy to forget.

There were not many points of attack with all her layers of clothing, and from her restless shifting in his arms as he pulled aside the veil to kiss her neck, he got the feeling that perhaps she was not quite comfortable with disrobing at all. If it indeed had been nearly two centuries without a lover, and her last one had discarded her so coldly, he could hardly blame her.

But with her dress or without, Edgar was just happy to be here, and if he managed to keep himself alive in front of Redgrave, then perhaps he could hope it would not be their only encounter. There would hopefully be time to strengthen her trust in him.

After allowing himself the pleasure of pulling his hands down the front of her dress to her legs, delighting at a small hitch of her breath, he sat back and gave her an impish smile.

“Since you tease me for my chivalry, would it bother you if I got on my knees for you?”

“For what purpose?” Bridget asked, amusement tinging her inquisitive gaze. “Swear an oath?”

“I have something more interesting in mind.”

Edgar sat on the ground, noting only in the back of his mind that the age-related little twinges the movement may have caused only some months ago were now a thing of the past. He moved as easily as a twenty-year-old again, and felt just as eager, too.

Bridget allowed him to part her knees, apparently still not quite sure what his intentions were yet. As Edgar hooked his fingers beneath her underclothes, she lifted her hips after a brief second and allowed him to slide them down. Edgar pushed up her dress, taking a cursory glance at her legs. They were long and shapely and though the pale skin was covered in bruises, he simply made sure to avoid them as he slid his fingers up her calves and over her thighs while he inched between them. With a last smile up at her, he lowered his head between her legs.

If Bridget was not a loud woman, Edgar chose not to take it as criticism of his skill, for her hand settling resolutely on the back of his head, twitching and exerting gentle pressure counted as proof of her enjoyment, and her quickening intake of breath was a very sweet noise. As he swiped his tongue along her folds and then, after a long moment of probing hesitation, allowed it to slide in, he could taste the wetness that greeted him now. His hand tightened around her calf and wandered up, stroking the lean muscle as he pushed further in, drew back for a moment just to kiss her, making sure that she did not always remain the only one teasing, before he slipped his tongue back in, shifting a little to alleviate the pressure he could feel between his own legs now.

He had planned to bring her to her peak at least once like this, but found himself grasped at the shoulders and pulled up. For a moment, he worried that something may have gone awry, but when he looked at her, she was smiling as she directed him with a resolute movement to lie back on the couch.

She opened his trousers, holding him firmly in her hand for a moment and drawing her thumb over the head of his manhood before she climbed over his lap. If he had not already been excited by his own activities, just watching her quick, deft movements would have done the trick. It was nothing compared to the beautiful feeling of sliding slowly into her, though. Even the inside of her was a little cooler than a human body, but he relished the difference as she began to move on him.

Edgar slid his hands, which had grasped on to her hips, up the delicate curve of her spine and found a row of buttons. The temptation to open the upper few was just a little too strong. He watched to see that she still looked upon him with a smile before slipping her dress down over her breasts. They were small and perfectly formed and soft in his hands. Bridget gave a shuddering breath.

It really did need a little deliberate concentration from Edgar on chemistry formulas not to finish before Bridget. When she leaned forward into his grasp with a little sigh and held tightly to his shoulders as she rode him through her climax, he finally allowed his own release as well.

After a few deep breaths, Bridget sat back, though without letting him slide out of her. She fixed her shawl, which was hanging a little lopsided, and Edgar pulled her sleeves back over her shoulders after allowing himself a last look at her bare upper body.

“I do hope you weren’t too disappointed after such a long wait,” Edgar joked, as he held her casually by the sides, enjoying her weight on him.

“I think it was a proper reintroduction. I only wish I could stay longer, but morning must be drawing near now.”

The room had no windows, but Edgar was sure she was right. It had been long beyond midnight when he had spoken to Redgrave earlier this night.

“Then why not stay? I do have a guest bedroom.”

Bridget gave him another thoughtful gaze.

“I don’t have any interest in seeing the _guest_ bedroom,” she said.

Edgar’s smile widened.

As they laid in the broad bed in his room, he looked at Bridget’s face as his thoughts returned to Redgrave. Did he ever feel bad about what he had done to his wife? Probably only because it revealed a weakness he had worked so hard to hide from the world, and perhaps from himself. Or maybe he had honestly regretted it, would have loved her had she become the stunning, eternally youthful Ekon bride he had wanted. That idea almost seemed worse to Edgar.

-

“This is as far as I can go.”

“You needn’t have come even here,” Edgar said.

In the twilight of evening, Bridget stood in a small alleyway behind the Ascalon mansion.

“I know. But if you do manage to lure him outside, then at least I could try to help if he attacks you.”

“Let’s hope it does not come to that.”

It didn’t seem to Edgar that Bridget believed she could win a fight against Redgrave, but she seemed determined to try if Edgar needed her to do it.

Of course, it would have been easiest for Edgar to simply tell Redgrave that he had no intentions of killing Bridget and walk away from the Ascalon Club, but would that be enough protection? He doubted that Redgrave would want to let her live, especially now that he’d made it clear enough to Edgar that he had a problem with her.

He gave Bridget a last encouraging smile he didn’t feel very much and turned around.

-

To get Redgrave out of the house needed no special mental exertion. A brief mention of the uncommonly warm January night and a chance to speak in private made the back garden a natural choice. After all, Edgar knew that Redgrave was not likely going to be eager to let too many people overhear their conversation.

“Have you made any progress in the task I set you?” Redgrave asked, as the door was firmly closed behind them.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Meaning?” Redgrave asked.

“I think I could do it now if I wanted to. But I do have to wonder if it is the best course of action, after all.”

Edgar made eye contact with the man. It was easy by now to open his mind and push it onto that of another. As he’d feared, however, Redgrave’s was closed like a wall and forcing himself in would only make it obvious. The true art of mesmerising was to make people believe the decisions they made where their own.

“You know I have talked to her. It seems to me that she is very old and has been in this city for a while. Why kill her now?”

“Why does it matter?” Redgrave gave back, almost managing to hide his irritation.

“Because it might well be that people start asking questions. The two of us cannot be the only Ekons who have ever spoken to her, can we? She contacted Dr. Reid, too.” Edgar smiled and shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t know! I haven’t been an Ekon for long. But it just makes sense to me that some people might notice her disappearance more than they notice her presence.”

“If she is talking to Ekons, that’s a good enough reason to kill her.”

There was shifting in Redgrave’s head. Anger was never a good advisor, for it weakened mental focus. Edgar had to make sure that he didn’t let his own distract him.

“Maybe. But I don’t see how anything bad came of it so far. Do you truly think it’s wise to rock the boat?”

“What’s wise or not is better decided by someone who has seen a little more of life than you, Dr. Swansea,” Redgrave answered with one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know, my dear Lord Redgrave. All it has made me do that you asked me is make me wonder why you want this pitiful creature gone. I am, of course, not indiscreet enough to go looking for reasons,” he assured him. “I have very little to do with the great business you and most of your fellow club members are engaged in, so I don’t collect information. But even being as young as I am – in your terms – I know that so many important men probably don’t mind having a little more ammunition against each other, just in case.”

There was an entrance there, a gap he could feel. The shadow of Bridget had to weigh heavily on Redgrave’s mind. He plunged in, deeper, feeling the dizzying elevation of sitting in someone else’s head. 

“You don’t understand,” Redgrave said, voice tight.

Edgar had seen Jonathan do this a few times and it had been quite the spectacle, to watch him throw bold accusations in stranger’s faces and have them answer like he was their closest friend and confidant. But of course, it only worked if you could truly imitate that voice at the back of their mind – if you knew a few things that you shouldn’t.

“I understand she frightens you, but she obviously means you no harm. She hasn’t for two hundred years. What if you send more people after her, though? They will ask questions, too. Maybe they will ask _her_ questions instead of you. And maybe if she thinks it’s the only way to save her life, she will answer.”

Edgar could hear the reverberating authority underpinning his own voice. Redgrave stared at him like a rabbit before a snake.

It took Edgar all his self-control to stop there. Not to try to talk guilt into him, or to squeeze harder than he needed to in hopes of breaking something inside his head, as Redgrave would have deserved.

He pulled back.

“Perhaps you are right,” Redgrave said, finally, shaking his head like one waking from a daydream.

Edgar excused himself and left the club as fast as his feet would carry him to get into his car. For a moment, he wondered about his own conscience as he stared out the window back at the mansion. It did not feel quite fair to wield powers he had been granted by good fortune only so oppressively. But what could a man of Redgrave’s age have done with all his time on this earth, thin-blooded or not? If he’d known William Marshal, he had to be close to eight hundred years old. All the good he could have done for society, arts, science, whatever discipline he may have chosen... but he had sought to elevate himself and founded a society revering nothing but the purity and strength of blood, mistreating a good woman because she stood in his way of creating that image of himself. Redgrave had picked an especially ugly game to play and had been beaten by its crooked, unjust rules.

Edgar put his foot on the gas pedal.

Somehow, when he arrived at the beach at the appointed meeting place, Bridget had made it there before him. She already stood in the dirtied sand, the Thames rushing behind her. Edgar’s heart had only just slowed down to its usual speed as he walked down the stairs.

“I do hope he won’t think too hard about this conversation in the future.”

“Fortunately, I doubt he fears you enough yet. He thinks you’re a boffin,” Bridget answered with a slim smile.

“That has always been my strength,” Edgar joked as he stepped towards her. “I also hope you didn’t listen too closely. I fear I didn’t speak well of you.”

“Don’t worry. I do understand a little of strategy.”

She lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said gravely. “You could have just left me to deal with it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could have,” Edgar answered, taking her hand in his.

-

“Will you ever show me to your home?” Edgar asked as Bridget climbed out of his car.

It had been three months now since he had left the Ascalon Club behind, but they still made sure that her visits to his home, which had been delightfully frequent, were done in secret. He had brought her back to the East End tonight, though she always told him he needn’t trouble himself, she didn’t protest strongly anymore.

“Maybe,” Bridget said dryly as Edgar closed the door he had opened for her. “By this point, I mostly doubt we have to fear becoming your lab rats.”

“Obviously not. You are strong enough to punish me if I did that.”

These nights, Edgar dared to make such jokes that may before not have seemed absurd to her – or him, if he was more honest than he wanted to be. Bridget shook her head, even if there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Indeed. But are you sure your interest in me won’t wane when you know all my secrets?”

“Even if it were that way, you should know best that I am nowhere near that, my dear.” Though he would admit it had been alluring, taking apart the pieces of her armour bit by bit, some more literal – it had been some weeks before she would let him remove her dress, even –, others wholly figurative. There were still so many things yet to learn, though, so many dark spots of her past to illuminate. “But even then, a real scientist does not lose interest in a beautiful discovery just because it is indeed discovered.”

She hummed, placated and amused.

“Time will tell, in the end.”

With those words, she kissed him briefly and slipped away. Edgar watched her shadow until it disappeared – he had gotten a little better at catching that, at least.

It was spring now, a tentative and chill beginning to a new cycle of the year. Before he sat back in the car, he found himself lingering to take in the breeze for a moment. The Spanish flu was ebbing away, no longer emptying whole streets, the Guard had eradicated most of those infected with the blood of hate, and the war was over. London seemed to be clawing back to life again. Bridget was at his side.

If this was eternal life, Edgar looked forward to it.


End file.
